


Lightning Fall

by sparklight



Series: Gaia's Wrath [2]
Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Sexual Assault, Drama, Ensemble Cast, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Hera/Zeus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Mount Olympus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), One-Sided Ganymede/Typhon (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Protectiveness, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Separations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-20 07:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30001467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklight/pseuds/sparklight
Summary: With the giants defeated, the gods celebrate.But Gaia has still one more child to turn to in her anger, one which does not just have the ambition and desire to fulfil his mother's request and make it his own, but, compared to the giants, the power, too.Mount Olympos will stand undefended as the gods necessarily flee to make things as hard as possible, unless both the mountain and the divine order can count on some slightly unorthodox protectors to keep its defenses. Wit and a willingness to sacrifice safety and comfort will have to stand against Typhoeus until Zeus might be found and put back together again.
Relationships: Ganymede/Zeus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Series: Gaia's Wrath [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093661
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Crashing the Festivities

Three days of feasting, and Ganymede had to admit to starting to flag.

Not that he was the only one; all of the immortal humans present in the lavish hall had become decidedly subdued as the first day turned into a second into, now, a third. Even Herakles, seemingly inexhaustible, was by now draped over a couch and had been for some time. In his case the exhaustion might, however, have more to do with the drinking contest he'd boisterously and confidently entered into against Dionysos. Undoubtedly he’d assumed that the young god was still more human than not and that the two of them were thus on more equal ground.

Unfortunately for Herakles he'd had to see himself soundly defeated. The result was that now he had a couple months in Dionysos' thiasos to look forward to when things had gone back to normal once more.

Ganymede, sprawled out over a couch and not so much resting on as buried against Hymen's lap, groaned and very graciously ignored Hymen laughing. When Hymen right afterwards kindly stretched out his wings to cut out the light, Ganymede was inclined to forgive him. It let him float, not quite dozing, in half-shadowed protection for a couple minutes. Sleep had been had these past three days, of course it had, but not for long enough, and not enough for this sort of extended feasting.

Humans had limits, even when they were immortal, and Ganymede was finding them.

"Where is all that stamina I've seen displayed when you run, oh Iliades? A great hunter, I know you've pursued your prey with both skill, patience and strength!" Hymen, compared to Eros' more pointed such, was only very gently teasing, and in good humor besides. There was also a hand in Ganymede's hair, combing through it with sure, even rhythm. It would've made even the most cruel of mocking nearly bearable.

"I am human, immortal or not! I don't think we were made quite for this," Ganymede mumbled and smacked Hymen's knee with not even particularly much sound _or_ fury. "Besides, I saw you sleeping earlier, so who're you to talk about _stamina_?"

The shadow of the wings disappeared as Hymen gasped. Ganymede could well imagine the hand that would be held to his chest - and arm thrown over his eyes, considering the hand in his hair disappeared as well - and Hymen then slumped back against the wall the couch stood up against.

"If the circumstances were different, I should have you know I wouldn't have needed even moment of sleep! This is hardly my first feast like this." On anyone else there might have been an edge of danger to the pouting offense. Hymen wasn't quite so vicious, but Ganymede patted the knee he'd earlier smacked anyway.

"And you are still doing far and away better than us immortal humans, as is only to be expected." He had no fear of insulting Hymen, even if he wouldn't have had to worry about retaliation either way, but that was what made it so much more easy to soothe out the pout he could hear. Above him, Hymen chuckled, a hand returning to Ganymede's curls once more. It fortified him, and, without moving or opening his eyes, and with an undeniable sigh just barely leashed in his words, Ganymede added; "Have Zeus and Queen Hera returned yet?"

"Alas, no. Father Zeus and Queen Hera are still not in evidence," Hymen said, gently tugging on a curl.

"Sorry." 

He shouldn't have asked, really. He was having a perfectly nice time laying here, after being able to placate Eros yesterday when Zeus stopped trying to keep him by his side for literally every second he wasn't gone with Hera or dancing with her. Ganymede just couldn't help himself. He didn't begrudge husband and wife the time they were now spending with each other considering all that'd happened lately - in fact, that was much better than if they hadn't been! Ganymede also knew he'd been telling himself that a lot the last couple days, since even after Zeus woke him up that first day, he'd been sore in evidence afterwards. Just getting a chance to talk to him hadn't been easy, despite how much time Ganymede had spent right beside Zeus for more than a full day! 

So yes. He was a bit jealous, no matter how hard he tried to not be.

"Sorry? For _what_?" Hymen asked, so bewildered it was obvious in his tone without seeing his expression, and Ganymede pursed his lips. Shrugged and then finally rolled over so he was looking up at Hymen and his loose waves of honey-brown hair and big brown eyes which were, indeed, right now darkened in the most open of confusion.

"For asking _you_ , considering your domain."

"Oh, fear not. Such isn't going to hurt me," Hymen said, but his sweet smile, warm like a gentle spring sun, made the consideration paid well worth it. More than that, to Ganymede at least, also made it necessary. "Do you want me to fetch Pothos?"

Staring up at Hymen, Ganymede couldn't help himself and grimaced. Hymen broke out into peals of laughter in response, and Ganymede might have regretted being nice if he could have countenanced it. Even in the face of such terrible cruelty, however, he could not imagine being rude to Hymen. Despairing, Ganymede hid his face behind his hands, shaking his head. 

Honestly, he rather deserved being laughed at, for all that. Pothos was nice and he did like him. It was just that Pothos was also very much Pothos.

"He's so... _dramatic_ ," Ganymede said with an entirely exaggerated groan.

Hymen did him the gentle favour of not pointing out that _Ganymede_ was being dramatic at the moment, though Ganymede would insist he was hardly ever so terribly bad as Pothos could be. Not anywhere near how Pothos could be whenever he fell into sympathising with this or that couple, forced into separation for one reason or another. One could think him the one parted from a lover from the way he could carry on. As much as earnest sympathy was nice, Ganymede would just rather not deal with too much of it at the moment, maybe _particularly so_ when Zeus' attention had been mostly elsewhere for more than a handful of days now. And it wasn't even for the most usual reasons! They’d all been important and understandable ones. Ganymede wasn't sure whether laying here pining for Zeus while he was distracted not by Hera but a new dalliance would be better or worse, honestly. The whole thing with Semele had probably rattled both him and Hera in similar, if slightly different ways.

"I'll distract myself some other way," Ganymede said and pushed himself upright with a regretful groan, smiling at Hymen before he looked around the glowing, sweet-smelling feasting hall. "I see Apollo and Hyacinthus have disappeared again as well."

Most of the couples present had broken off at one time or another to use the rooms attached to the feasting hall, no one retreating further away than that. Apollo and Hyacinthus were among the ones who'd disappeared the least, actually, but they both seemed content to just bask in each other's presence while remaining in the hall itself. Ganymede wasn't sure whether there was some great reason as to why no one retired to their own rooms or the guest wing in the case of Poseidon and Hades since they had standing rooms there, or if it was just a reluctance to interrupt the feasting. Hades and Persephone had disappeared the most, but Ganymede wasn’t sure if it was the two taking advantage of the circumstances before having to wait months more for the proper reunion or another reason entirely. Hades did attend feasts he never stayed long, and regardless of the time he stayed he tended disappear for long stretches of time, with or without Persephone.

Demeter, Ganymede had noted, was much the same.

"They have," Hymen said, his smile soft again, even more so than his earlier one. He might have no connection to that relationship on the divine end since Apollo and Hyacinthus would hardly end up married, even as close as they were, but that mattered little. He was merely happy his father was happy. Apollo always loved deeply, but only a few lovers left such deep marks as Hyacinthus had; Admetos and Cyrene, as well as the young mortal Hymen had been named after all had left similar impressions. 

Hymen was hardly the only one in Apollo’s circle to be happy for him. Terpsichore and the Muses in general had been well-pleased with Hyacinthus ever since they’d met even before his resurrection, and Artemis was the same. Whatever Leto might have thought she was still happy for her son. Ganymede knew, though, because Hymen had confessed to him with hushed tension that even if his mother had been displeased he wouldn't have been able to dislike Hyacinthus _or_ Apollo's relationship with him. 

"It's certainly a terribly good thing that they've already had two months by now, otherwise I think we wouldn't have seen them at all during this feast! Or only so if Father Zeus pulled them both out of whatever room they would've been holed up in by the hair." Hymen snickered, and despite his soft-eyed pleasure at his father's happiness, Hymen was not above the teasing edge to his words. Ganymede, imagining the scene perhaps far too easily, was hard-pressed to suppress his laughter. Ended up leaned in against Hymen's shoulder, forehead to skin, until he had his quietly shaking shoulders under control.

"I assume there's some need for everyone to put in some sort of appearance?" He'd ask Zeus later, or Apollo, even. Either of them would be able to explain the metaphysical underpinnings of the feast, if there actually was any such. Hymen nodded, his brown eyes still light but expression turning more serious.

"Oh yes. Even if the challenge didn't really threaten the order in any true way in the end, the victory being firmly established is important, and everyone who was present in some way or another can’t simply decide to not honour it." He shrugged and Ganymede nodded, standing up with a stretch.

"I'm taking a walk and getting something to eat, maybe that'll wake me up again," he said with a wry smile and Hymen waved him off, now more sympathetic than not despite his earlier teasing over Ganymede's creeping exhaustion.

Even if food didn't wake Ganymede up, ambrosia and nectar would certainly boost both his energy and awareness. And, entirely aside from any practical consideration on attempting to last through the last day of feasting with some dignity intact was the simple enjoyment of eating. Ambrosia could be made into any number of textures and tastes, look exactly like fish or apples, be used as a main ingredient, so what was there not to enjoy? Ambrosial bread was one of the most decadent and self-indulgent forms of eating it, in Ganymede's opinion. What Ganymede now came away with was a cup of nectar cut with just enough wine to flavour the divine drink, and a swirl of ambrosia that looked a little like a cloud. Compared to the misty non-existence of a cloud, the ambrosial confection was crunchy fragility from surface to center and practically melted on his tongue.

If nothing else it perked Ganymede's mood up and distracted him from pining that would, he knew, get soothed later. It always was, no matter what.

For now, he wandered the hall, passing Artemis and Hebe dancing out on the floor, with a small knot of goddesses and nymphs waiting to join in. Hebe was keeping up surprisingly well considering the type of dance, though half of her success was probably due to being focused on what she was doing. Had she realized how many were looking, and how closely she and Artemis were being observed, she would, unfortunately, have stumbled to a stop and possibly retreated very quickly. Luckily there seemed little chance of her noticing, and to make sure Hebe wouldn't spot him at an unexpected moment and startle her, Ganymede continued his slow walk.

Ended up following a strain of music that contrasted against the one filling the center of the hall, soon finding Pan sitting at the base of a pillar with his legs crossed and hooves neatly touching just at the tips. There were a small group of nymphs nearby, and despite what he might usually do, he wandered over, curious. When Ganymede also recognized two of them, his smile widened.

"Melia, Dryope." He really would've been more graceful in his greeting if he'd thought to finish his food and put the cup aside first, but none of the seven nymphs seemed to mind the nod he gave them. Melia and Dryope smiled as they stepped aside to let him join the little circle. "Why are you all standing here?" 

He'd have thought they'd prefer to avoid Pan instead of standing so very close to him. It wasn’t that Pan was rude or cruel. Ganymede was further pretty sure most of the nymphs would actually enjoy his company as much as they did that of his father, but Pan had yet to learn a good approach. He also was far too crude when trying to approach them, for all that they were rustic spirits and enjoyed a good romp.

"The music," Dryope said with a sigh, a hand to her chest and a dreamy look on her face as she swayed a little in place. Her sturdy build made her look less girlish than the others, and her round face practically glowed in the light with her sweet expression.

"But we're not going closer because he seems to think that only means we want to have sex. I don't know _what_ Argeiphontes have told him!" Melia huffed, less angry than simply exasperated. She shot a sidelong glance past Ganymede towards Pan, and Ganymede, looking over as well, thought he looked rather dejected past the alluring trills of the many-mouthed reed-flute. Melia pursed her lips and looked away once more. "And I'd like to dance with him, not just listen to the music. I've seen him dance, and he's right clever at it!"

Several of the nymphs nodded in agreement, and Melia, past just wanting to dance, would perhaps have been interested in other things as well by the narrowed light in her eyes. 

None of the nymphs were ever going to be able to get what they wanted, carnal or not, if Pan didn't get a better idea of how to approach them, however. What _had_ Hermes told him? Or maybe he hadn't told him anything at all, and so far simply not noticed the trouble. For all that Hermes was right charmed by babies and delighted in playing with them and making sure his charges were given good care by handing them off to nurses who could bestow it, after taking Pan to Olympos he seemed to have forgotten that one crucial step. Not that he'd left the goat-legged, precocious godling to his own devices - far from - but Ganymede could actually not remember seeing any nymph consistently around the child whenever Hermes wasn't on Olympos himself.

"I ca---"

"Ganymede!" Dryope gasped as if he'd just offered to throw himself at an altar and be sacrificed for them, clutching his wrist to keep him in place. "You wouldn't be safe, you know! I heard from some of my sisters when I went to visit them a little while ago, that they had great fun watching Pan chase after a shepherd."

She eyed him very sternly, and while Ganymede might have hesitated otherwise, this time he shook his head. This wasn't just ten years after he'd become involved with Zeus, and while he hadn't had many and then only brief, interactions with Pan before, he was not some random, pretty shepherd. Well. Not any more, that was. But even then he hadn't been nothing _but_ a shepherd.

"It'll be fine," he said with a smile, and when he squeezed Dryope's hand, she let go of him. Melia just gave him an encouraging nod, though he could feel her sharp attention on his back when he turned, so different from the other nymphs' more hopeful curiosity. Her alertness was a reassurance certainly not needed, but it was, admittedly, a welcome backup.

This time Ganymede remembered to set the cup aside on a nearby table, so he could at least make some sort of proper greeting as he stopped in front of the seated Pan, who broke off the winding trill of music with a jerky clutch of his hand around the syrinx. "Prince Ganymede."

Ganymede wouldn't ever have guessed that one of the Deathless Ones could almost have their voice break, but Pan was, somehow, managing. The fault of that lay partly in that his voice was already so deep, so the slightest waver to it was far more obvious than it would be for most. Ganymede smiled and ignored the wide-eyed, far too searching stare, as well as the faint ruddiness of Pan's tanned cheeks. There wasn't anything to fear, and not just because Zeus would be most displeased and they both knew that. There was nothing to fear because Ganymede had, however rare his interactions with Pan, watched him grow from a chubby, wispy-haired baby with only nubs for horns and into the gangly young man who now looked about ten years older than he truly was, who blushed and nearly stuttered every time he laid eyes on Zeus' cupbearer.

Pan was certainly clumsily fearless in his pursuit of nymphs and apparently the occasional mortal shepherd as well, and both he and a couple nymphs had paid for that crude clumsiness already. Ganymede, in contrast, could probably have stood naked before the god in the middle of an isolated forest and nothing would happen. Not that he was about to test that, because it would be both awkward and rude, but he was nonetheless sure of it.

"Lord Pan," Ganymede said, his smile widening in genuine pleasure that had nothing to do with how Pan's barely obvious blush darkened at being thus addressed. Ganymede had only begun to do so in the last couple years, and while he would certainly not mind going back to addressing him only by name, Pan would actually have to ask him to do so. It didn't feel quite right to address a god, however young but now still older than a child, by no title if not given leave to do so. "Would you mind dancing with me?"

The narrow trail of beard that flowed down from Pan's chin trembled briefly as he sat there, wordless for a moment. Then Pan leapt up with a quick shake of his head, bright-eyed and almost painfully eager. 

The wavering, partially-controlled flare of divinity was threatening to give Ganymede a headache, and he was starting to get an idea what the problem in general might be. Hermes was so terribly indulgent of this son who was as attached to the countryside as he himself was, he probably was doing very little to actually _teach him_. Nothing undoubtedly helped by how Pan already looked older than his father, completely aside from the beard. He'd been born with it, though it'd been no more than wispy curls trailing from his chin to match the wispy curls on his head; both were now dark and thick, his horns starting to curve impressively.

Pan's hand was heavy and markedly sinewy around and compared to Ganymede's own, but not rough with callouses like might have been expected of a mortal. They were soon out on a patch of floor, and Ganymede could easily say he understood the desire not just for Pan's music, but his dancing as well. Pan’s hooves against the marble and mosaic tiles clacked accompaniment to the music in the air, adding its own of a sort, and Ganymede hoped Pan might not need much more than a couple words to aid him. He wasn't sure what else he could do, honestly.

"The nymphs would like to dance with you, and listen to you play, but you always stop as soon as they get close," Ganymede said as they landed from a leap, a little breathless and growing flushed, but not tired. Pan, proving once again that even divinity could almost falter, just barely saved himself from landing flat on his face and dragging Ganymede down with him. Turned it, instead, into a twirl and dipping Ganymede at the end of it to regain equilibrium.

"What? But I _try_ and they all always scatter!" 

Laughing as he was pulled up straight again, and certainly not for the scrunch of Pan's goatish nose or the nascent, confused offense in Pan's voice, Ganymede squeezed the large hands clutching his own.

"Let them approach you, and _keep playing_. And some of them would probably be delighted to talk about hunting or sheep, as well." They were nymphs, after all, of springs and trees and meadows - why would they not delight in such things?

"... I suppose," Pan said, and for a stunning moment even his trailing certainty couldn't hide the sonorous depths of his voice, which would surely come to its right even further among the craggy cliffs of mountainsides. Pan glanced around and then leaned in as they swung around on the floor, effortlessly splitting his attention. Ganymede had to work hard on focusing on keeping his feet moving as well as giving Pan the attention he was due. "It's just hard to focus."

He did not snort. He recognized the sentiment Pan was confessing to. It was indeed hard to focus when one was all afire in both heart and body for someone. Ganymede couldn't quite not grin, though.

"You manage well enough with me, my lord," Ganymede pointed out, shaking his head, his amusement softening into warmth. Maybe it wasn't quite the truth, and Pan was clearly self-aware enough to aim a dubious look down at Ganymede. He was too practised to break under such disbelief and just smiled earnestly, pulling Pan close with his grip on his hand, then stepped back. "And I have no doubt you can do the same for the nymphs; the rewards would be much greater that w---"

"Where is Father Zeus?" Bia wasn't loud where she stood in the doorway, having been the guard assigned to Olympos' propylaia for today, but her voice was rich and the edge in her words carried. The music stopped, and Ganymede, turning so quickly in the middle of a leap, would have ended up on his face if Pan hadn’t been quick to grab him by his waist before he gently sat down down on his feet again. Ganymede shot him a distracted but earnest smile in gratitude, and Pan flushed a warmly golden no matter his deep tan.

"Here." Zeus strode out of the room he and Hera had been holed up in, and for all that he was in the middle of putting his belt back on, he looked no less put together than if he'd been sitting on his throne. He was already frowning, too, clear as day in his voice if not his face at this distance, with only human eyesight for Ganymede to see by.

"We have a guest," Bia said, gesturing with her spear, "I left Kratos with him. He wishes to speak with you."

Ganymede felt like he was missing something by the darkening expression on Zeus' face, now more easily seen as he crossed the floor, as well as by the tightening air that suffused the hall. What was there in those few words that had everyone so on edge? Looking around, Ganymede didn't need to take many steps towards the wall to find someone to ask, because Apollo and Hyacinthus had now rejoined the dissolving festivities as well. Hyacinthus, at least, looked as bewildered as he did. Apollo's usually bright eyes were narrowed, and the lines around his mouth were stiff enough he looked years older than he usually did.

"What's _wrong_?" Ganymede couldn't quite help a note of plaintiveness as he looked up at Apollo. "Bia didn't even say who it was."

Apollo blinked, then looked down at Ganymede, who arched his eyebrows, and to Hyacinthus, who tipped his head in silent question as well. Realizing they clearly were in dark about any meaning to the brief exchange, Apollo's grim expression lightened briefly into something not so much soft as weighted.

"She undoubtedly doesn't know who he might be, but his potential identity matters less right at this moment than that our festivities were interrupted before the third day was fully over," Apollo said, looking up, out over the hall. Ganymede didn't need to guess to know he was searching out first Artemis and Leto, and then the Muses even as he wrapped an arm around Hyacinthus' shoulders. "Nothing should have been _able_ to interrupt a victory feast."

Realizing what Apollo was saying, Ganymede bit his lip and went to find somewhere could watch without leaving the hall, for as much as he did want to follow Zeus. 

Surely he couldn’t be the only one, but even Hera, who'd been trailing behind her husband, remained in the hall with the rest of them while Zeus left with Bia. Ganymede found a cup and a pitcher to use, almost too distracted to give any sort of parting words to Apollo and Hyacinthus. The hall filled with murmurs around him even as attentions shifted and eyes grew distant as those who could do so turned their gazes towards the gate. Immortal humans and nymphs, in turn, found suitable surfaces to aid their sight.

Smothering a yawn, Ganymede had to blink and squint to focus past the shimmer of the nectar he’d poured. The view finally cleared out onto a startlingly bright late afternoon, and even if he wasn’t standing outside the view was far too bright for a moment. 

The top of the gate showed only the towering doors themselves, and so Ganymede followed the propylaia down to the bottom, where the last arched structure sat on mortal soil. Beyond them, on ground that only days ago had been spattered red with blood, stood a tall man. Dressed in clothes that were familiar though slightly different in detail, Ganymede pressed his lips together until the wave of unexpected longing receded. 

Luwian, certainly, but not north-western such, so why it should make his heart ache so, he didn't know. 

In fact, for all that the man was dressed impeccably as nobility from eastern Kizzuwatna, he didn't much look like any of the peoples that lived there, Luwian, Hittite or Hurrian. He had a high forehead and broad shoulders that carried a spill of long, red hair twisted into loose braids with ease. He had pointed ears. Ganymede stared at the view in the bowl and realized that yes, those ears were definitely pointed. He sported a short beard, as burning red as his hair, that was more stubble than it truly was beard. His eyes, Ganymede realized after several moments of trying to settle it, were black. Solid black, like how the eyes of the Deathless Ones turned in deep rage, but there was no obvious sign of anger.

In fact, the stranger seemed much relaxed, and remained so, when Zeus stepped out from the shadow of the propylaia and came to a stop a short distance away. Their 'guest' was perhaps a shade taller than Zeus, but not to the towering heights the giants had possessed. Aside from his ears, eyes and height, he seemed, if not mortal, then human enough. What Zeus could tell standing close to him was impossible to know, for aside from the arms crossed over his chest, revealing the muscle in them, he stood as still as a well-rooted tree, and his expression was as blank as the burnished brightness of a cloudless summer sky.

It was just as, if not more, intimidating as whenever Zeus was practically boiling over with fury.

"You would have been welcome to take your question or request to us as a proper guest," Zeus said, his expression still flat as he eyed the red-headed figure in front of him. Was that why Zeus was keeping himself so tightly in check? Or could he tell something more when so much closer than the rest of them? But Bia hadn't said anything, which was probably a problem in itself on top of the actual interruption of the victory feast.

"A generous offer, as to be expected of the king of the gods," the man said, his black eyes glittering as he tipped his head. "But I avoid to stand as a suppliant in front of another's throne, guest or not. Besides, it would be a waste of time to wring hospitality out of heavenly Olympos when I am going to be sitting on said throne and will receive the service as my due, soon enough."

Around Ganymede, the hall went dead quiet.

Down on the plain in front of the propylaia, the finest shimmer of sparks danced around the silken wave of Zeus' dark locks. There was, perhaps, the tiniest of twitches in the corner of his right eye.

"What?"


	2. A Change In Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stranger introduces himself and challenges Zeus to not just a fight, but his throne. The fight goes like no one but Typhoeus himself had expected, leaving the gods in upheaval.

"Allow me to introduce myself." The red-headed man, certainly smiling now though with no humour to the gleaming-sharp expression, touched a hand to his chest. "I am Typhoeus, son of Gaia and the dark depths of Tartaros. I am father of monsters that have plagued mortals to remind them of their place, though my wife and I have been robbed of nearly all of them by now. Their mother is the lovely Ekhidna, daughter of dread Phorkys and Keto."

Typhoeus met Zeus' stare flatly, and the glitter in his solid black eyes gilded his smile with an edge Zeus little liked. 

Compared to the giants, this son of Gaia had divine essence to spare and he was doing little to restrain it. He could have incinerated mortals with a careless glance and choked lesser gods with a touch. He was loud in ways that had little to do with the volume he was speaking at as he stood completely still and spoke quietly in a sonorous voice that wasn't as deep as his frame might have suggested. Zeus was wavering half between assuming Typhoeus was just that crude about controlling himself, and half feeling as if he was missing something. If he was indeed missing something, seeing such past the thoughtless lack of control Typhoeus had on his presence, light enough it made his hair stir in an unnatural wind, would require more time. 

Not that it truly mattered, for whatever it might be could surely not require much special consideration. He'd deal with this quickly enough.

"I have answered my mother's call to arms to avenge the deaths of my kin, and to put things to rights as she wishes it. She is no longer content to let you and your brothers lay claim to the realm and sphere you have so boldly called yours, Kronides."

"Boldly?" Zeus growled and rose up in the air with a subtle shift of wind and power, his hair swirling about his head and shoulders. Closed his fist and was filled with the thrilling rush of energy that was now part of him like breathing. 

The Kyklopes had forged the first lightning bolt, tamed primal energy into a form to be wielded by less primordial deities, but even in such a form the lightning, and its vast, essence-shattering true potential, wasn't so easily held. His brothers had both experienced it, and while Zeus alone had been the one able to fully wield it, it wasn't until long after the initial hand he’d put on that forged bolt that the power had properly become one with him. The physical bolts to carry the power the Kyklopes had made after the first single one were now safely locked away, though the additional security mattered little when a vanishingly small amount of individuals would be able to so much as hold them for any length of time, even less actually use them.

"We defeated Kronos and those Titans that stood with him by strength, skill, and effort. The sphere is ours, and mine, by rights as solid as the foundations of the cosmos, as you ought to well know, Earthborn." Eyes now as black as Typhoeus' were, Zeus raised his arm. "And let me show you exactly why that is so."

This time, there would be no trick to shield this youngest son of Gaia, the father of Kerberos and, certainly, a number of others easily named now that he was getting a feel for Typhoeus' essence. There would be no rising once death had darkened those abyss eyes of his, and if Typhoeus was Deathless so death could not claim him, he would be exhausted into immobility and hurled into Tartaros.

Zeus was in no mood to entertain another threat so soon after the previous one.

"And by rights you should defend your throne with no power but your own!" Typhoeus raised his voice even as he dashed out of the way of the bolt Zeus hurled, fury leashed in his bunching muscles. 

Typhoeus was wind-quick but with not a stirring of air around him, as if he'd merely shifted from one place to another. The lightning struck where he’d stood, the earth quaking with the hit. Blackened cracks trailed smoke, and gleaming, twisted strands of fulgurite rose up from the ground like lightning made physical. The air there seemed dimmer than it ought to be, the grass charred far outside of the impact point. Typhoeus seemed little rattled. 

"Can you even hold the sphere without your lightning, oh lord and master of the skies? Meet me alone, with nothing but yourself, and prove you are still worthy to be at the head of this order, for as it looks to me you need either your kin, or power you weren't even born with and alien from you, as well as the indulgence and habitual fear of your kin and subjects, to stay on that throne you are so confident in your possession of!"

Zeus, having been about to throw a second bolt, this one compensating for the wind Typhoeus was manipulating in his favour, paused for a crucial, unfortunate moment. Words along with outrage stuck in his throat like the divine version of choking, silencing him. Choking which thundered through him and had Zeus heaving for a moment.

His skin was lit from within like sun behind clouds, the colour of him no longer warmly olive but rather mirroring the fitful mass of clouds gathering above the plain. His chest pulsed with light and suppressed whispers of chthonic dark, nearly invisible against the veritable storm of ouranic energy that was Zeus' core. Black hair turned into a shifting mass of air and caught rain, lightning sparking between strands that were now air pressure and energy. The poor mortal ground, even so far between the thin, storm-dark streams of cirrus clouds that'd replaced Zeus' feet as several lengths of a full grown man, blanched from the weight. There was no grass beneath the hovering form, and the soil was slowly disintegrating. The air around Zeus had collapsed, a pure, untortured vacuum the surrounding air couldn't rush in to fill as the incandescent divine essence radiating out from the god held it at bay.

A second later and Zeus looked as close to human as any of the Deathless Ones ever could, as perfect as they were, but a second was a moment too long.

"Your order is a sham! A lie built on the indulgence of a youngest sibling being humoured by his older ones for a rescue given in a time of need, to be certain, but where the reward far outstripped the favour supplied. You are the oldest only by a technicality, your siblings born before you in the manner that matters, from your great mother, and thus any right you possess to the throne or your primacy as the oldest hold little weight! And you and your brothers relied on chance to allot you your personal realms to rule? Laughable that none have corrected this mocking of proper order, assigning seats as befits the character of both the realm and the ruler, but I will gladly correct this." Typhoeus smiled, a triumphant light in his black eyes and the wind swirling unhindered about him, his heavy braids shifting restlessly against his shoulders. He stepped into the shocked swell of gathering power as if it weighed nothing and tipped his head up to meet Zeus' still-dark eyes, which did nothing to hide how wide they were, if only briefly so.

Typhoeus' smile widened into a toothy grin as Zeus corralled himself and narrowed his eyes, but the return of his earlier flat expression saved little. Zeus would have cursed if he might have been minded to give such a victory to his opponent, but he did not. Snarling, he instead slowly lowered himself to the ground and knew that both of them knew he was obliged to wait, now. To listen.

He had not thought Typhoeus would have known to set such a thing as this in motion. Gaia had clearly prepared this challenger of the Olympians far better than she had her other earth-born sons.

"Hear, then, what would be an order much more pleasing to earth and heaven both, laid out according to divine and earthly laws and by a single ruler holding the sceptre of the sphere. For would it not be much more fitting that a son of Gaia should once more sit at the head of the realm, and that a grand-daughter of earth and sea should wear the starry crown of heaven? With Ekhidna of the lovely scales and flowing locks adjoining the realms so inadvisedly parted between the Earth-Shaker and all three of you, Kronides, I shall give her the trident of Poseidon to be my right hand. And further I shall give her Hera as a handmaiden, youngest daughter as she is of great Kronos and Rhea; it's a suitable position for one who clearly cannot bear the weight of the crown that her husband has granted her."

Zeus already knew he would not like to hear what Typhoeus clearly wished to expound on instead of taking to arms and making good on his threat, but this was more infuriating than he could have imagined. Having to stand here and listen to this upstart imply Hera wasn't fit for her crown or her position as his wife and queen brought thunder to the air and a hot shimmer about his head. Unfortunately, Typhoeus taking the time to lay out his apparent plans would only aid him in his challenge, and the pointy little smirk lurking on the clean, heavy features wasn't just amusement for Zeus' obvious anger. Typhoeus knew very well what he was doing.

Gaia really had prepared him well, and that was probably the most worrying of all.

"With Poseidon freed of his ill-suitable realm, as water to a god who moves the earth seems to hold little sense, I shall free great Atlas, long-suffering in his chains under the mountains that tower towards the heavens and touches even the aether itself, and chain that son of Kronos there. I will storm the Underworld itself, wielding the lightning and thunder you so vaunt over, oh Kronides, and tear out the oldest by the hair as if he were a disobedient child unwilling to mind his chores or betters. What else can one expect of an oldest son who abided a drawing of lots and retreated into the dank, misty shadows of the realm of the dead with nary a protesting word against the unequal honour paid?"

Under their feet the ground rumbled, then groaned. 

Zeus had little place to roll his eyes in answer to what was certainly both Poseidon and Hades' reactions to Typhoeus' boasts, but he was sorely tempted anyway. It was a bare comfort he wasn’t alone in being insulted here. Typhoeus chuckling, revealing laughter far more pleasant than one might think for such a boastful creature, put Zeus entirely off his urge to laugh. He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered narrowly instead.

"I will undo the chains of the helper of mortals, as little as they have deserved the help he has given them, and though Herakles, killer of my children, rid him of the scourge of his immortal liver, I think Prometheus will be much more pleased with being free of the chains completely. Hades will be chained in his place, as far away from his realm as possible while being denied the breath of the aether he declined to rule as is his right. And as for the youngest, who thinks himself to carry the privileges of the oldest..." 

Typhoeus' blank, glittering stare slid up and down Zeus' body, his smile widening along with that stare and showing off pointed teeth. They hadn't been there when he'd first introduced himself. 

"As is only fitting of the youngest son of a king, I believe I shall put your hands to much more practical and useful work - work you already know very well, dark-misted son of Kronos - and free that poor mortal youth you've set to carry your cups. I will put you in his place, and marry the maiden Hebe off, for surely there's a river or two who would pay a king's bride-price for a princess, now that she's clearly old enough to not mind a girl child's tasks, taken from the cups in preference of this mortal prince.

I will put quick-footed Argeiphontes in chains and exchange his presence for that of my glorious brothers in the depths of Tartaros. A thief belongs in prison, and not as the honoured herald to bring the word of his king to subjects and strange courts alike. And too I will yoke Manslaying Ares, capture his wild sister, and those loud-voiced twins of his to my war chariot as horses, for I see little sense in allowing War to roam free without being fully yoked and leashed to the king's stern hand to lash them in the direction he wishes to go. The unwed goddesses shall be given away to suitable husbands, virgin oaths or not, for it's not seemly that a woman, having reached her age of bearing, should remain unyoked to a master who knows to put her to use. Hephaistos, having little use of his legs, shall make the chains that will bind him to the forge, for that is where his use lies, and to pretend otherwise is cruel illusion."

Typhoeus paused, spreading his hands in a slow, open gesture, tipping his head with cruel grace. As if what he was saying was self-evident and a far more natural order than the honours that had been given to the Deathless Ones so far.

"Glowing Iris shall take her sister's place in gloomy Tartaros, a fitting punishment for a sister having fought her own twin and deserted her original post besides. Shining Apollo, darling of his father and demure Leto, will surely be relieved to know he can henceforth focus on his music alone instead of the numerous tasks he has been burdened with. I will make sure he can do absolutely nothing else, and he will be the crowning jewel of the entertainment in my new court along with the sweet-voiced Muses. And too long have the satyrs been allowed to roam free, disturbing the countryside both with their licentiousness and their loud merry-making. Much better use to put those clever hooves to work for the palace, and if not willingly, then under chain and lash."

Typhoeus quietened, and Zeus stole a moment to close his eyes. Listened to the thunder of ichor iin the physical parts of him. Listened to the pulsing, rumbling echo of his essence like the horizon-distant pressure of an oncoming thunderstorm changing the taste and weight of the air. He did not explode. He wished to give in to the urge so terribly he tasted electricity on his tongue and his ears rang like the emptiness of standing in the eye of a storm, but he opened his eyes and met Typhoeus’ black stare and didn't explode. Both Gaia and her newest offspring would learn the folly of this course of action, but he wasn't struggling with his whole desperate, angry essence against Kronos, tasting ichor and echoing with pain; he was not a child any longer.

"And you propose to settle this new order of yours how, then?" He would give Typhoeus a little more rope to hang himself with, it would hurt Zeus little and Typhoeus only more.

Those twisted braids of red hair spilled over Typhoeus' shoulders as he tipped his head. Bent down and thrust a hand into the earth and drawing out a long, black blade out as he stood up again. The sword sharpened dramatically to a narrow point, giving the weapon an unbalanced look with its heavy, triangular base and the long, slim tip of it. 

"Choose your weapon and I will show you, Kronides."

Choose your weapon. Zeus snorted and was temped to show him exactly what sort of weapon Typhoeus was inviting him to use, no matter what the Earthborn himself thought. But no, it'd make more of a point if he matched his opponent, and it would be exactly as much effort as Typhoeus deserved to have wasted on him.

"Fine." Zeus turned on his heel and expended the power to teleport back into the feasting hall, reaching out without looking to take Rhea’s hand and squeeze it. At the same time, he leaned in and down to kiss Hera's cheek in greeting as much as a temporary farewell.

"Zeu---"

"I'll be back as soon as this is dealt with," he said, eyes already searching out the one most vulnerable that'd been explicitly mentioned in Typhoeus' ridiculous rant. Not that there really was any need to worry, but the memory of coming back to Olympos to find giants not only within the temenos, but near both his youngest daughter and his human lover was still fresh. Meeting green eyes, Zeus smiled. "Walk with me, Ganymede."

Touching Hera's cheek, Zeus gave her one last look until she nodded, reluctant tension in every line of her. Then he turned and didn't wait for Ganymede to come up beside him, knowing he would catch up anyway as he crossed the floor and shepherded the youth out of the feasting hall and across the courtyard. Where Ganymede would normally be relaxed under his hand, particularly so if they appeared to be going back to the royal apartments, now he stiffened the further they walked, though he didn't attempt to get away - despite obvious misgivings, he kept himself weighted _into_ Zeus' touch.

"There's no real need for this, my lord," Ganymede looked up at him as they descended the last set of stairs, stairs he'd carried Ganymede down a couple days ago, with the boy tossed over his shoulder and unfortunately for no fun reason. "There's no actual risk, is there?"

He'd picked up on what Zeus intended to do, of course. His prince was not stupid. Zeus smiled tightly, and even with Ganymede answering it with a small, thin one and shifting a little closer yet, trusting his weight to the large hand resting in the small of his back, the tension didn't ease. Certainly didn't when Zeus shook his head and just pushed him onwards with light, gentle inevitability.

"No. But this way I will know without a doubt where you are, and even at a distance I can keep you safe." It was his own power that kept that room invisible and undetectable by anyone, and also kept it locked. It usually held a rare few things - one less now that the net had been entirely destroyed - and wasn't actually meant to hold a person, even if it was equipped for it.

"Piḫaššaššiš, _please_ ," Ganymede protested while Zeus opened the door, preceding him inside to bend over the chest that stood up against the wall opposite to the door. "This room is so small."

It was large enough to house a mortal peasant family in the comfort they would have been used to, but Zeus didn't say that. Ganymede had been a mortal prince, and by now he was well used to Olympos’ airy rooms and halls, built for beings much taller than mortals were. No wonder he thought this room small, now. 

The adamant sickle that had been in the chest was taken out after a moment of weighty consideration, a faint glow from the weapon casting Zeus in silvery relief. Turning around, he took the moment to kneel down on one knee, reaching out to cradle Ganymede's face, for despite his misgivings he'd come right in after him. Perhaps only from curiosity from how he eyed the sickle, more than two-thirds of Ganymede's height, wide-eyed with understanding. But he also didn't flinch away from Zeus' touch.

"And it will be for less time than the hours it took us to take down the giants, beloved. Grant me peace of mind, if not your willing obedience."

He didn't need to ask, really. He could toss Ganymede onto the couch that was up against the wall under screams and struggling protest and storm out and close the door, and there was literally nothing Ganymede could do about it. They both knew that, but that was hardly what the true issue was. He could also have commanded, and Ganymede would have had to bend, no choice in that either, as much for Zeus' divinity as his position as his king.

"That's not fair, Zeus," Ganymede whispered, turning his face to hide it against his palm. For all that his heart was a facsimile, the ichor flowing in his veins in little need of a pretend muscle to pump it around, it still stuttered at the half-seen twist to Ganymede's mouth as much as his gut - which, again, was even less of a real organ than the heart was - did.

"An hour, darling Ganymede, that's all it will take, if even that. I won't have him so much as _breathe_ on you, even from this distance."

There was a shift against his palm that revealed Ganymede had rolled his eyes, and Zeus chuckled.

"He said he was going to _free me_ , not kill me, love. As if I need it."

"I trust little of what he says, aside from the cruelty inherent in his nonsense threats," Zeus rumbled and leaned in in the same movement he pulled Ganymede close, trapping him against himself. The brush of his lips against that sweet, silken cheek was less a kiss and more a benediction. It was also, most certainly, a claim. "And whether or not he's missed you are immortal and would attempt to kill you as a way of 'freeing you' while dealing me a blow, or changing his mind on freeing you at all, I will have neither."

Ganymede in pain would be unacceptable enough, but few were those who could look upon his godlike beauty and feel nothing. Not that it would matter because Typhoeus wouldn't put a foot inside Olympos' gates, but Zeus wouldn't be able to focus if he didn't take precautions. After this was over Ganymede would never see the inside of this room again.

"I don't like it." Ganymede turned around in his grip and buried his face in the crook of Zeus' neck despite his words, pliant as anything. There would be no further protests, but as pleasing as that was, it paled in comparison to the brief, glorious moment of Ganymede wrapped around him, arms locked tight about his shoulders. 

Zeus could have asked for little else, but as much as he'd rather stay, he couldn't. So he stood up, touched Ganymede's cheek much like he'd done Hera's, and left.

The firm, metaphysical click of the door that rang with the force of a thunderclap inside of him was as reassuring as was the door sliding shut with not so much as a whisper of stone grinding against stone in his ears, and once more invisible in the wall. Only he could open that door, and he would certainly not do so willingly, or reveal where it was or what was contained within.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs up into the rest of the palace, Zeus took one step and let it take him farther than just up the stairs. The bottom of the propylaia was a solid, towering shadow behind him, carrying all the promise and power of the mountain the gate structure guarded, much like a storm carried the threat of rain that could both make or break a farmer's harvest. The sweeping plain spreading out from between the earthly Olympos' next two highest peaks was more uneven than it usually was from the earlier battle, but it would stand another one yet. Across from him, Typhoeus eyed the giant sickle with a matching quirk to an eyebrow and a corner of his mouth, then hefted his sword.

That was, most certainly, not the only thing Typhoeus hefted and aimed at Zeus, but the pressure of his essence mattered even less than the potential edge of the sword.

They launched at each other and there was, again, some shift around the earth-born as they clashed. It was, Zeus realized, a suggestion of presence that Typhoeus currently wasn't living up to, but who wouldn't attempt to present themselves as greater than they were when trying to do what Typhoeus was?

Black blade crashed against silvery sickle, sparks dancing along the weapons' razor edges as they slid against each other and then locked. The tip of the sickle pressed against the tanned skin at the base of Typhoeus’ throat, a bite just deep enough, the edge sharp enough, to pierce it. A drop of ichor bubbled up, shimmering in the sunlight, and marked Typhoeus as higher than his other earth-born kin so recently slain.

Zeus, gaze drawn to the drop of ichor, grit his jaw. Not that the presence of enough divine essence to stir a wind around Typhoeus hadn't already made clear he wouldn't be as easily dispatched as the giants were as soon as their protections had been stripped from them, but this was beyond that. He’d rather hoped Tartaros might be the final destination as punishment after death, but this would require a fate similar to that of the Titans, if they were to be assured of Typhoeus' complete defeat. 

Zeus looked away from the tiny, damning wound, the drop of gold spilling over to track down over Typhoeus' collarbone and disappear under the hem of the cloak pinned at a dramatic angle around his shoulders, to meet those dark eyes again. Typhoeus smiled, toothy and confident.

He leapt back amid a blast of wind which did little to move Zeus, their hair whipping about them both. Lesser beings might have been crucially blinded, but Zeus hardly needed to see to follow his opponent's movement. Frankly, these sort of infantile tricks were annoying as well as insulting. It wasn't even the sort of dirty fighting Poseidon liked to employ to give him advantage in a fight, for _those_ tricks, at least, stood a chance of actually affecting his opponent!

"You fight like a mortal," Zeus snapped as he swung the sickle, slicing the air and deadening it, a wound that hung there even after the blade had passed. "Unworthy of the essence that flows in that body of yours. Harassing those with little means to effectively defend themselves against you have taught you bad habits."

"I have had little cause to consort with the blessed immortals so far," Typhoeus said, surprisingly genial as he ducked under a swing and thrust forward. His sword skated along the heavy leather of Zeus' belt but bit no deeper than that. "I look forward to remedy it, though I don't imagine I shall have much need or use of listening to my _cupbearer_ for advice or tactics on dealing with immortals and mortals alike."

Zeus snarled and struck, the sickle bitingly quick though Typhoeus saved his neck. A red braid went flying, unravelling in the air to sink towards the grass in a fluttering red rain. Two more swings in quick succession, metal tortured as the weapons impacted, locked. Zeus' muscles strained to fulfil the weight his essence put to bear, bending Typhoeus backwards, but even that concession to his power didn't soothe him. It wasn't just the insult intended, for that was what it was. It was the implication that there was no need, that it would in fact be ridiculous to listen to one's cupbearer, that set Zeus' ichor to boiling.

He should hope Typhoeus knew to honour someone who was as close to him as that in an official capacity, and that he was only saying these things to attempt to anger Zeus into mistakes. If he thought such words would have results he would be gravely disappointed, however. 

Angry Zeus might be, as it throbbed in his chest, knotted up his gut, swamped his muscles until only the pure energy that always flowed underneath kept his strikes controlled and smooth. Angry, yes, but he was not nineteen any longer. He wasn't even twenty-nine, but still feeling nineteen in all honesty, hammering his father with lightning until Kronos was on his knees, then on his stomach, face in the dirt and smoking from every pore as he burned but didn't die. Still Zeus hadn’t been aböe to stop, remembering those large hands on Rhea through the year ten years before that last battle. Remembering the sight of his siblings, babies when all of them should have been older than he was, vomited up and needing to be caught in his arms and carried instead of merely guided to feet unused to take physical weight. Remembering all of them trying to settle, growing up, and Hera just unable to. Having to put his foot down and send her away, for _all_ of their sakes.

Angry, so very angry back then at the things, time, relationships, lost. 

It didn't even matter that his and Poseidon's relationship wavered between boyish sibling infighting that almost let them forget all the edges and then true antagonism every time they remembered or Poseidon chafed at a decision Zeus had taken. It didn't even matter that he'd almost ruined his next best relationship himself, in various ways, when it came to Demeter. It didn't matter that he had no way of knowing if any of that would have been different if Kronos hadn't been told of the prophecy, if Zeus had been swallowed along with the others and Rhea would have needed to turn to someone else, or if none of them had been swallowed at all. The endless possibilities lost had been a source of anger throughout the war as they fumbled between each other, with and against and together, and sometimes it still left Zeus breathless with fury.

Only Rhea knew that, and if any of the others felt the same and had confessed such to their mother, she kept her peace and let each of them be upset about it to her without revealing it to any of the others.

Zeus was used to anger, and certainly there hadn't been less of it when Hera had said she'd almost been assaulted, when Porphyrion wished to claim her for his own as well as take Zeus’ throne. He'd barely gotten to wash those feelings away after the fight, and now they was back again, burning the back of his throat for the threat to the order, insults to his wife and all the other gods, to _him_. Anger that underpinned every swipe and strike, his hand white-knuckled on the sickle's shaft, but it mattered little.

What mattered was the way their weapons struck against each other, rattling through him and down into the earth, echoing with every hit. What mattered was the thin, shallow cuts that burned as ichor crept up, shy like young maidens venturing out into an unknown flower field, for those cuts revealed Typhoeus' unfortunate strength and speed. 

He was clever and quick, and though cruelly insulting in his intentions, certainly knew how to wield a weapon _and_ his divine essence.

Not that it mattered.

An hour was what Zeus had promised, and that time was nearly up. As non-binding as the promise had been, it was one he was going to keep as if he'd bent his head or promised on the Styx. What else was his word good for?

"Enough of this," Zeus thundered, shoving Typhoeus away from himself and ducking under a swing that nearly took a couple stray locks of hair with it. He was more tired than he'd expected, and that was, for a brief moment, terribly unsettling. He pushed it away much like he had Typhoeus and pulled power close, letting it settle underneath his skin. "Allow me to show you exactly what you've been playing with, Typhoeus."

As if he was restricted to the sickle alone, even with Typhoeus’ taunt and challenge about using only power that belonged to him. He knew nothing.

"Oh no, allow _me_." Typhoeus smiled poison and glittering darkness, and struck before Zeus could.

Typhoeus' essence slammed into Zeus at the same time as his sword caught against the sickle, but that alone wouldn't have unbalanced the king of the gods, even less toppled him. It was nothing he hadn't felt before. Except that presence flared like an exploding star, and for all that Zeus was by now familiar with the feel of it, the unfolding weight made even the aether cringe away.

That was what Typhoeus had been hiding; not pretending to be greater than he was, but pretending to be smaller.

Wings unfolded, bronze-gleaming and edged in black, spattered with red like blood sprayed from a wolf's teeth as it tore into a lamb's throat. They sheared the air and darkened the light beyond the shadows they cast, and grew along with Typhoeus himself.

Snake heads burst out of the previously smooth muscle of upper his arms, the well-shaped curve of broad shoulders. They were like boils bursting in the course of an illness' progression but the sickness not made better by it and rather spreading the disease instead as they stretched out, lunging forward. Typhoeus kept growing even as his legs lengthened, as if melting in the dimming sunlight while they gained red stained scales and coils.

"What..." 

Zeus stared, empty for a moment, forced to tip his head back even a little further than when he looked up at his mother, if not as much as the giants had towered over the even the tallest of the gods. Height didn't mark power, but for the burgeoning presence of Typhoeus, he could probably not be any smaller in this form. Typhoeus wasn't primordial, even with that size, but he could just as well have been for the weight of him, greater than any of the Deathless Ones born in a great long while. 

That was as far as Zeus came in his assessment, fighting off snakes that seemed to multiply by the second and all of them eager to tear at him. Typhoeus ignored where one snake was ripped out in a spray of ichor with another immediately growing to take its place, for there were enough of them he could do so. They kept coming, winding around Zeus' arms. Legs. Throat and waist. Tightening, ever so slowly, and Zeus, uncomfortably reminded of the net Hera had used, discarded all attempts at a more measured approach to his final strike. 

Lightning sparked around his head, dancing among the strands of his hair and down his arms, gathering - flaring into fizzling sparks that burned grass and scaly flesh, but not enough, not _quickly_ enough to stop Typhoeus as Zeus choked on unexpected pain.

One snake bit into his ankle, then another buried its teeth in his wrist, and two more followed, one for each limb. They dug down, repeatedly biting and then ground their fangs in. 

Zeus grit his teeth and swallowed the burning need to shout. He would not. He would not give him the satisfaction. He looked up, fighting the weight of not just snakes, but the rest of Typhoeus wrapped around him, the shadow of the wings spread over him adding their own weight. 

Solid, abyss black met winter-pale gray, and Typhoeus laughed when Zeus spat a curse in Minoan at him.

"You---!" Hissing, nearly spitting static, anything else to be said was shattered into frozen shards as the snakes stilled. Having found their grip, they tore into Zeus. 

They went past physical, immortal flesh down into metaphysical, immaculate energy. Bit down into that, too, with fangs made of acid ice, and Zeus didn't need to breathe, but he lost all the air he was still holding and couldn't have cursed even if he wanted to. 

Ethereal fangs latched onto divine essence and ripped it out.

Ichor sprayed in golden, glittering arcs, a painful blessing on tortured ground that bloomed underneath the weight of the immortals standing on it. Flowers and wheat sprouted even as the skies darkened and icy rain, needle-sharp and driven by wind, followed, tearing at the new growth. Shocked breathlessness kept Zeus voiceless with each shudder and jerk as the snakes tore away from a wrist or ankle each, pulsing light and sparking white-blue energy trailing dark fog in their mouths. Spasms went through his limbs, and then they went limp.

The clouds dispersed with a quiver, and Zeus slumped in the snakes' grip, trying but failing to move so much as a finger. The lightning that was this a pulse within was less than a dream to grip in his actual hand, but there was other power he needed more right now. Zeus clutched onto his wavering control over essence and power with all he had left, because it was important that he not let go of it. He could not hold onto it.

Elsewhere, the light flickered.

His control was flowing out of his hands like a child scooping up the fine, wet sand at a beach washed with lazy turquoise waves, impossible to hold onto with tiny, mortal hands no matter eager determination. Typhoeus leaned in as he pulled Zeus close, a smile on his face that only grew at the jerky snarl on Zeus'. One hand came around to cradle Zeus like a lover might, mockingly careful. The other took what the snakes dropped into his palm, and as each snake let go, the energy coalesced into ichor-dripping sinews.

The sky trembled, and Zeus felt it and couldn’t stop the shudder that went through him in answer.

"If I feel like it, I'll give you back enough of this you won't stumble around like the clown you are when you serve me," Typhoeus said, darkly genial. "It would be a pity to waste the drink if you spilled, after all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Myth check: As little as I like Nonnus' _Dionysiaca_ , he does have what's basically a pretty spiffy Villain Monologue going on in it for Typhoeus, so I let myself be inspired by that for Typhoeus' boasts and plans in this chapter. :)


End file.
